Speechless
by F-is-for-FanFic
Summary: Mathew Williams was losing everything. His parents, brother, home, and now even his voice has abandoned him and left him alone and invisible to the world. That is until Gilbert Bielshmidt stumbles into his life. Fail summary is fail, Please read!
1. Chapter 1

Eureka! Alright, so I'm walking home from the PX (Army talk for general store) and I just I dunno, thought of this lil' story. And I am really hyped about it! I have sections of this story already in my head, I'm really psyched about this! Alright so…I guess I'll start~!

It wasn't raining that night, in fact it was quite sunny, despite the severe cold that was sweeping across the state of Ohio. I always thought that if something happened that would change my life, the sky would be streaked with raindrops. Granted, gray clouds splotched the sky, but drops of rain did not fall from them, rather flurries of snow. On the day that I lost my speech, the sun was bright, as if the ball of light was laughing at me, as if it found some sort of joy from this.

There is no heart-pounding suspense story as to how I could no longer speak, I just woke up and couldn't. In a way, I expected it. My whole life I have been a mere shadow of my brother. Born twins, and yet it was like only Alfred had been conceived. Of course my parents and brother noticed me, and most of my teachers, but as much as they remembered they also forgot. Mr. Borden would not even call my name on the roster most days, Mrs. Kingsley wouldn't hand me a test, and Mr. Cons would count me absent every day until I would speak. If he heard me that is, which most days he did not because of the whisper I was born with. My volume never exceeded that of maybe a rats squeak, it was simply the voice I was born with.

Back to my recognition, I didn't mind the teacher's it became routine really. However it was when my mother and sometimes even my brother forgot that it hurt. I never hated them for it, I couldn't find myself to do so. In fact I blamed myself, I blamed my whisper, I blamed my shyness. After a while I blamed even my own existence. I never threatened my own life, that thought never even crossed my mind. I loved this world too much to leave it. However, I did realize that although I lived and breathed there was no meaning to it. There was no reason for my existence. I didn't sulk in this fact, I just realized and accepted it. Although I would question this fact often when my father would recognize me.

I loved my father greatly, not just because he never forgot, and not just because he constantly reminded my mother and brother that I even existed, but because he was the one who told me every day that my life held great meaning. He almost convinced me that what he said was true, but his belief never beat mine.

Five months and eighteen days after my brother and I turned nineteen, my father's and mother's life were taken on the streets of Ohio. Both were robbed and then shot by a homeless man. The man was found a month later in the neighboring alleyway, starved to death despite gorging himself after squandering my parent's money on feasts of food. I found this out years later. That day as well as the day of their funeral was sunny as well, the first time I realized the gaseous star took joy in my sadness. Neither I nor my brother cried as their bodies entered the ground, we were raised to never shed tears because to do so could only deface you. It was when I returned to my apartment that I went against my parent's teachings. My sadness could no longer be contained and the tears flowed from me for hours. All I could do was lay on my poorly constructed mattress and clutch my knees, weeping. The next day I went across the street to visit my brother, see if he was doing better or worse than I. But when he opened the door, his eyes looked past me rather than on me. His eyebrows had furrowed and he turned his head left and right, searching for something. I opened my mouth to speak when he closed the door. I stood there , mouth agape for minutes that seemed like hours to me, trying to comprehend what had just happened. It was as the sun loomed over my head that I realized, my own brother had forgotten me.

Since my father was no longer around to remind him, I had become completely translucent to my younger sibling. I ran to my poor excuse of a home and did what I did the previous day, cried for hours. This time I screamed, which from me was equivalent to the volume of the low rumbling of a car engine while in park. I still couldn't hate Alfred, and was slightly shocked when I found that I wanted to. I was just confused, I wanted answers from him. I didn't understand how it was possible for a human life to go on completely unnoticed, especially one that you have lived with your whole life. We had only been separated since the day we turned nineteen, and even then my mother and father required us to visit every weekend. But now, there was no reason for him to remember me.

A week later, I finally left my apartment, food needed to be bought and I needed a job if I planned to pay the end of the month's rent. And apparently to feed myself since I found only enough money to buy a couple loafs of bread, a little lunch meat, and a couple apples. I was completely silent when the cashier sat there playing with her nails even though I had lain my food on the belt as loudly as possible and tried to speak to her several times. The silence remained as I left after going to the self check-out.

The day after I fed myself I set out to find some kind of job, I didn't care what kind, as long as I got paid I didn't care if I had janitorial duty. But my efforts went in vain as the same story continued. I could punch someone square in the face (though I could never have the courage to do so) and they wouldn't bat an eyelash. I went to numerous places in search of a job, but it was useless, a voice was never heard from me. I was getting tired of it, and I returned to my home in despair. No job meant no money, there would be no way to buy food or even pay rent. I knew living a life on the streets would be inevitable.

I lived the next week in fear, the end of the month approaching. However, when it came there was no foreboding knocking on his door by the landlord. In fact there never was, I lived in that apartment as winter was welcomed throughout Ohio. The chill crept through the room and into my bones, a couple of sheets were not enough to keep me from shivering. In mid-December my food supply had run it's course and I was beginning to grow hungry. And then Decemb 26th, the day after Christmas, the dreadful knocking on my door was heard. I pretended I couldn't hear it, a pressed my pillow to my ears, trying desperately to block the sound. And then I heard wood splintering and I unshrouded my sight to find my door shattered. The landlord barged in and was searching the room, of course he never saw me. I was just a crinkle of the sheets and a dent in a pillow to him. I watched in horror as the thirty year old man emptied my apartnment, grumbling. He apparently thought someone checked into the room and just left so that person didn't have to pay him squat. Unbeknownst to him, the owner of the room was trying desperately to stop him from throwing his belongings out the back window, into the open dumpster.

And it was that day that I found I could no longer speak. I was trying to tell the man to stop, I tried to scream, shout, do anything to stop him from destroying my home. But nothing elicited from my mouth, no sound would come out. My hand flew to my throat, it wasn't sore I had found. When I think about it, it was probably because I had lived four months without speaking, because I didn't have to. It was something I no longer needed to do, so I simply lost the function. By the time I had realized this, the room ad emptied and a small family of three were beginning to set their belongings in what was once my home. I had no choice but to leave.

So I left, hungry and the cold seeping into my ribcage. My body shivered violently and I could almost feel my fingers changing color. I walked along the white blanketed streets for hours and finally stumbled into an alleyway, my vision beginning to splotch black. And this is when I began to recount everything, as I slouch against the cold brick wall and my tattered pants begin to dampen from the slowly melting snow. And now….I can feel the silence…it's deafening….


	2. Chapter 2

And it is here that I transfer to third person, sorry for that agonizing first chapter, I suck at intros _ Now I get to the good stuff. I know I never said Canada's name (Mathew, for those who don't know) I did that on purpose. Oh and if you have already guessed it's one of those Hetalia fanfics where it has the Hetalia characters but they aren't….countries. Ha, I know doesn't make sense but, yeah if you are familiar with those types of Hetalia fanfiction, here ya go. If not, I'm honored to have been your first. Also, if you continued here to Chapter 2, thanks. I like when people read my fanfiction. Oh and please comment, lemme know what ya'll think. *blasts All American Rejects

Mathew awoke abruptly, he would've thrust his body into an upward position if he had the energy to do so. He felt something pushing his head up, tilting it. It was then that the nineteen year old realized that he wasn't cold. He opened his eyes, a simple task he was finding hard to do. He revealed his cerulean orbs halfway and saw snow. So he was still outside, right? And then he looked closer, under the snow was a pale face and striking crimson circles. To him, most of it was a blur so it took him a while to realize that what he was looking at was a person. And what was tilting his head was this person's hand.

"Oh hey, you're awake! How are you feeling?" He heard the voice distinctly, it was strong. And as his vision slowly became clear and he saw the person's lips move he realized this human was addressing him. This perplexed him immensely, how could this person see him? Or even then, care about his well-being? As his vision came back, so did a little more strength, he opened his mouth to say something and then remembered, he could no longer speak.

"Here…maybe this'll help?" he heard the man's hopeful voice again. He cast his glance down when he felt a slight cold against his lips. A glass, filled with water. He eagerly opened his twin pink muscles and let the clear liquid slide down his throat. He finished the glass and felt the hand down slide to his back. He was slightly alarmed until he felt it giving him support.

"Here, try to sit up." He gave a slight nod and accepted the hand's support. He managed to sit up and press his palm to his forehead. He glanced around the room he was in and his eyes widened to their full extent. The room was luxurious! A fireplace, slowly losing light, glimmered a few feet in front of him. On either side of the bricked structure were lanterns, whose flames were also fading from being neglected. Just behind the man who seemed to be caring for him was a glass table that if he were standing, would reach his knees. Because of the red eyed man, he was unable to see the two plates of food placed on the table.

Then he took his time to examine this person, he was dressed mostly in red and black. His pants seemed to be a fine denim dyed black with faintly red pockets. His shirt, a maroon colored long sleeved button up that seemed to slightly cling to his body (which appeared to be toned). And then his gaze went to that of the latter's. He could hear his pulse ring in his ears; those piercing blood filled irises were gazing right into his water filled ones. They seemed to be examining him, for what Mathew didn't know, but he figured it was his health. He couldn't help but smile, it had been so long since anyone recognized him and here was someone who not only did that but cared for him as well! He wanted to express something, most likely gratitude, he willed words to exit his mouth but nothing came out. A frown replaced the smile.

One of the man's eyebrows raised (which shocked him that they were white, like his hair), "Hey, are you okay man?" Mathew tried to think of some way to communicate with the man, when he clapped his hands to grab the attention of the other. The crimson eyes cast down to his hands, filled with confusion. Mathew moved his hand as if he was holding a writing utensil and scribbling something with it. The other nodded and disappeared to another room for a couple of minutes and returned with a small notebook and pen.

"Here." He handed him the tools. Mathew nodded graciously and grabbed them from him.

'_Can't speak.'_ Mathew held the paper to him, in which he nodded a bit sympathetically. He moved the paper back to his lap and wrote, _'I have a lot of questions. I know you do too. My first being, your name?'_

"Gilbert…Bielshmidt." The snow haired man addressed himself slowly, as if his mouth was dry. Mathew knew one of the questions running through the man's head….actually he knew a few. Gilbert cleared his throat, "Yours?"

Mathew gave a slight nod, _'Mathew Williams.' _He was about to wright another of his questions when a pale hand made its way atop of the notepad. Mathew looked up confused only to see another confused stare from Gilbert. "Questions can wait, Mathew. You need to eat." He stated simply.

It was then that Mathew took notice in his hunger, it wasn't the first thing on his mind when he awoke but it was now. His stomach growled in agreement making Mathew's cheeks turn a few shades of pink. Gilbert gave a cocked smile and reached behind him retrieving a plate of some small sandwiches. The blonde could feel his mouth water and was reaching forward before he hesitated, the other chuckled. "It's fine, there is plenty more where this came from." Gilbert kept the smile as he retrieved the second plate and began eating himself. Mathew shoved the pieces of wheat and protein into his mouth, devouring whatever had claimed its place on the plate. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a light laugh, "You'll make yourself sick eating like that." Mathew chewed his mouthful of food and swallowed it, much more slowly than before. He moved the pen again to write, _"Thank we do a little Q and A now?" _ He smiled a bit when he received a nod.

Many questions and answers were given and received during the hour that ensued. Mathew had asked how exactly Gilbert had found him, in which the answer was that he had simply spotted a large mound of snow in an alleyway. When he had gone to inspect it and found a human, he carried Mathew to his home post-haste. "You were a light little thing, very frail, so you weren't too hard to carry. It also helps that I am a bit more awesome than your average person." The snow haired man had said. His features had also brought about a few questions. In which he received many shrugs, "Dunno. I was just born with it, I've asked my doctor about it before. I'm a uh, I think he said 'albino'. Which is science babble for I'm pale, have white hair, and red eyes. Also that I get called a freak and such my whole life." The man smiled softly when Mathew had sympathetically placed a hand on that of the others. Which was beside him, since in the midst of their session Gilbert had taken his place next to Mathew on the couch. "It's fine, it just means that they've never seen someone as awesome as me before and simply don't know how to deal with it…though apparently I'm not going to be around much longer. Doctor says it comes with the bag, being an albino, short lifespan. Says it's a wonder I'm _still_ alive." Silence hung in the air for a few minutes when the albino cleared his throat, "So, I guess you were born unable to speak? Or did you lose it in some sorta accident?" He asked carefully, not knowing if this was a touchy subject or not.

Mathew hesitated before he wrote and Gilbert apologized quickly in which Mathew waved his hand dismissively, _'Born with it.'_ He wrote simply and quickly. He decided he was never going to speak again anyway, he might as well make it the case. Before the atmosphere became one of sympathy or grief, he quickly wrote another question, _'Age? I'm 19.'_

"Well, well, I'm two years your elder. I'm twenty one, just old enough to drink am I right?" he chuckled again, a sound that Mathew was beginning to be fond of. "Oh hey, oh my gosh you must have family to get back to right? Man I've been keeping you here, they're probably worried sick about you!" Gilbert quickly got up to retrieve a coat when he felt the other man grab his arm and point to the couch with his other hand. He raised an eyebrow and slowly filled the dent he had made in the furniture. Mathew would've sighed if he could; he held the pen in his hand for a while. He didn't know what to write, his parents? Dead. And his brother didn't even know he existed. So he wrote, _'No family to speak of. I don't get along with my parents and I'm an only child._' Gilbert had nodded and went on to explain his family.

He had one brother, Ludwig. But they hadn't spoken in years. His parents were dead as well, but they passed away when he was much younger. Only three when his mom had died from an illness, and his father died when he was six, also from illness. _'Why don't you speak to your brother?'_ Gilbert paused when he read the question, and then shrugged. "Just don't get along…" he said, but Mathew could tell there was much more to that story. But he nearly jumped when he thought of a question that had entered his thought, but he had forgotten to ask it. He quickly scribbled, _'Why didn't you take me to a hospital?'_ Gilbert nodded, "I know right? I should've, but the closest one is six miles away from here and I barely carried you the one mile to my house. So I decided to just get you better myself…I practice a little medicine so I knew what I had to do." He gave a brilliant smile, "You were in good hands, I promise you." Mathew's cheeks turned pink from that. It didn't help that the man next to him was incredibly good looking, and he was in his house, and on a couch with him. He stood up quickly, about to write where a restroom would be to excuse himself when his vision spotted and he saw the world around him shifting. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there." Gilbert got up as well and grabbed his shoulders gently, "You're still not a hundred percent yet…you can't manage yourself properly…" He said slowly as he lowered him back down to the couch. Mathew nodded and closed his eyes, his lids feeling heavy again. It was so nice to be in a warm home with food, and person who SAW him. Who recognized him as a human being. He decided then, as Gilbert was slipping a blanket he had retrieved over his body, that he would never ask that question. It could never be asked, for he decided that if he brought up that no one else could see him that the other would no longer be able to. He didn't know how he came to this conclusion, but he could feel that would be the consequence of asking. The question that was never to be asked or in his case, written, "Why am I not invisible to you?"

. So. Hard. Ugh, I'm not happy with this chapter…please comment. Please? Also if you finished this horrid chapter, wow you survived! And I apologize…


	3. Chapter 3

"So…let me get this straight…" reddened fingers brushed back auburn strands of hair, tinting them crimson, "There is someone else there, besides himself?" the man asked, completely skeptical. On the tape he was viewing, his nephew was sitting on his couch, speaking into the air. He always knew the boy was weird, so the fact that he was doing this did not surprise him. He had asked his little errand boys to tell him when something interesting where to happen in that house. This was all but.

"Y-Yes. Sir if you p-pay closer attention to the screen there is a slight shimmer in the film and if you s-stare at it long enough, you can see a person!" The man of only twenty years stammered as he saw his boss cleaning his stained hands, examining the tape with clear doubt of interesting info. Info that he had brought, and his boss didn't seem too happy about yet. A similar situation had been reported the previous day, and it was that situation that had made those stains on his hands appear.

The older man in the room sighed and relieved his position on the chair to examine the footage more closely. He was about to withdraw his blade from his coat pocket, perhaps to cut the young being behind him to pieces. And then he saw it, that shimmer on the couch. The moment he considered that there might in fact be an existence inside that shimmer, he could clearly see a blonde haired man writing and then his nephew reply. His eyebrows intertwined what had he just witnessed? Someone's existence that he was sure was not there, suddenly appearing before him? "I take it this is the same man that my nephew picked up yesterday? The one that you're…comrade," he smirked and flicked the damp handkerchief, red dots flung to the floor, "reported to me and I did not believe him?"

"Y-Yes sir!" The younger man began pressing his palms together, anxiety growing within him. His boss surely saw him this time didn't he? He jumped when the other's chuckling began to reverberate around the walls surrounding them, "Well, well! It seems I made a mistake in disposing of him then!" The man rose, knocking down the chair behind him with the sudden movement. He paid no mind and turned around to face his subordinate, "And it seems when I pushed my nephew out of my line of interest, I also made a mistake. Even though I don't know what I just witnessed and even more so don't know what it entails, I would like you to spread around that Gilbert Bielshmidt and his little translucent friend are to be put under much closer watch." The auburn haired man said as he walked closer to the younger, whose form was quivering from what he presumed was fear.

"Yes sir!" The shaking form squeaked and did his best to hold still while under such close scrutiny of his higher up. His body obeyed a bit more when a small smile spread across the other's lips.

"How about, yes sir mister Edelstein?" He said softly as he placed a finger underneath his subordinate's chin and tilted his head up towards him. He laughed lightly when he received, "Yes sir mister Edelstein!" in response. "Dismissed." He said slowly as he turned away. As he trudged over to the phone on his desk, taking extra care to step over the puddle of blood as to not mess up his shoes, he listened to the quick footsteps of the younger man whose name always seemed to slip from his memory. He picked up the phone and dialed the number of the person he desired to speak with, he raised it to his ear and listened to three rings patiently. And then an answer, "This is Ludwig Bielshmidt." He suppressed a chuckle, he knew that tone well, the one of his other nephew. The one that was stern and direct, even though he was only nineteen he took on the voice of a thirty year old.

"Ah Ludwig! How nice to hear your voice!" A much larger smile formed when he could hear a shuddering breath in the receiver, and then he took on a slightly pouting voice, "Aw, what's the matter Ludwig? Not happy to hear from good old Uncle Roderich? By the way, how's the drug cartel business going for you? From what I've heard not to well, I do hope you're not making enemies!" And then the tone grew very dark and coated in threat, "You know how dangerous it is to make enemies in this business." And then back to his first tone, faux happiness. "Now cmon Ludwig you know better than to be rude and leave me to all the talking!" There was silence for a shirt while and then,

"Why did you call me. Straight answer." Roderich smiled, there it was again. That direct tone. But now it was time for him to be just as direct if not more so, "You're brother. It seems he has piqued my interest. In fact it's funny he-"

"Do not speak of my brother!" Roderich winced and held the phone a bit away from his ear when he received such a loud interruption. His lips groaned as his smile grew larger, of course. He had forgotten that Ludwig's older sibling actually _meant _something to him. How the younger sibling had gone into such a dangerous business just to keep the older safe, safety that he wanted mostly to keep from the dangers of his own Uncle. And how his Uncle had no desire in laying a harmful finger on either of them once Ludwig had joined "the business". Ludwig was too precious an asset he could one day use. Of course he had subordinates watch Gilbert in case he where to do something to cause him to take interest in his younger relative. And what his Uncle had just seen had certainly caused interest.

"Now Ludwig, "he said in the same way a teacher might begin to softly scold a student, "you know that I wouldn't _dream_ of harming my dear nephew. Unless of course-"

"No! There is no unless! Leave him alone he has NOTHING to do with this!" His nephew's voice grew louder when a nearly deafening laughter erupted from his throat. Ludwig growled into the line, "If you touch him, you-"

All laughter stopped as Roderich interrupted, "You will what? Come after me? Cut my throat? What can you possibly threaten ME with? I could go over to him right now and tear him to _pieces_ if I wanted to! But as of now he has only tweaked my interest, not enough for me to even give him a little kick to the shin! But you listen here Ludwig, the next time if you're brother does something _really_ interesting he's mine! And you will _finally_ come over to good ole Uncle Roderich's side, _begging_ for FORGIVENESS!" he spat into the device and slammed it down. He ran his fingers through his hair and paced the outside perimeter of his desk, laughter rumbling through his chest. He gripped the corners of the cherry wood furniture and whispered, "You will come to me Ludwig. And believe you me; you will hand over every last penny you have earned the past year! If I would've known you would have the most thriving drug cartel I would've had you on my side in a second. But right now…you're too lenient on _his _side." His fingernails began to dig into the furnishing of the desk, "And even though I hate to admit it…he has just a couple more connections than me and until you are on my side I can't start the war that I've wanted to start for more than ten years now." He would have kidnapped Gilbert long ago to lure Ludwig to his side, but he knew that way too much trouble could arise from that. Even though he had the connections, the ability to erase the fact that Gilbert Bielshmidt even _existed_, it wasn't worth it. Roderich hung his head and whispered, "I am a patient man, and there is no need to take my nephew hostage as of yet. However, if he begins to do more…rather interesting things that might show that he has some _use_ in this; I will find no choice but to take action and use him to get hold of his brother. And to finally start a war with that damn Ivan Braginski."


	4. Chapter 4

Mathew awoke the next morning to the smell of something burning, which at first alarmed him greatly until he heard, "Fuck you fucking stove piss of shit! How hard is it to make fucking pancakes? Fucking fucker mother fucker!" The blonde haired man smiled as he heard something hitting against metal, which he presumed to be Gilbert's foot. He sat up, much more slowly this time, and pivoted his body so his feet were on the ground. He gradually stood up fully and was glad when dizziness did not take over. He took shaky steps over to the kitchen where he saw Gilbert hunched over the sink, washing something off his hand. Upon closer inspection he found that his hand was a lobster red and Gilbert's face was twitching, wincing. Mathew walked more steadily and tapped a finger on his back.

The albino jumped a bit and turned to face his company. A smile formed on his features, "Oh hey! Look who's up! I was just makin' breakfast!" He hissed a bit and instinctively drew his head back to the burnt limb when it had been slowly turning away from the cold water. Mathew walked to his side and looked at him, an eyebrow raised. Gilbert caught the expression, "Oh, guess you heard all that huh?" and he smiled when he received a nod. The giver of the gesture wished that he at least had his writing pad to put, _'How could I NOT?'_ Mathew gave what would have been a sigh and mouthed slowly, _'What can I do?'_ Gilbert's brows furrowed for a second, deciphering the oral movements and then raised, "Oh! Uh…some ice from the fridge." He nodded his head in the direction of it. Mathew went to go retrieve some as Gilbert slowly wrapped his hand in a washcloth. He returned and gave a handful the cold cubes to Gil, "Thanks." He said and balanced the things as to not drop any. He slowly made a dome with his hand over the other covered one, the ice granting him relief, "Ah man, frozen water never felt so good." He chuckled and then his eyes widened, "Oh hey! Sorry you must be hungry and I kinda- I-I mean uh the stove was being all stupid and burnt the pancakes! Ya know those stupid machines just can't handle the awesomeness that is me!" Again, Mathew raised an eyebrow in which he received a smile and shrug.

The blonde made his way over to the stove and grimaced at the sight, sauces and other unknown stains splotched the what would be white stove top. The top right burner was missing, and the top left one had only a half of it remaining. The bottom right held the pan where Gilbert had been trying to make their breakfast, the burnt pancake batter serving as evidence of his failure. And the bottom left held an empty, but still remarkably dirty pot. Perhaps to make something else as well for their meal. He shook his head and took the pan to the sink and grabbed a washcloth. He drew the faucet to his side and turned the handle to the hot side. Mathew scrubbed the tool vigorously, and after a few minutes it was finally usable again. He turned his head to the left to find Gilbert simply watching him, his hand still covering the other with ice and cloth. Mathew turned away before he had time to get caught in that startling gaze. He placed the pan back on the burner it was originally on, the smell of burnt batter still lingering in the air. He searched the neighboring countertop and found the mixing bowl full of the creamy brown liquid.

He dipped his finger in and cautiously drew it into his mouth, he was surprised to find that Gilbert had mixed everything correctly. Well, mostly. He went to the fridge and got out some milk, pouring it into the batter, and then placing it back to the cold box. The blonde then found some butter, added a block, and returned it. He continued to perfect the mixture until he needed one final ingredient. He turned to the albino, who was still just watching him with an expression he couldn't place. His hand was now unwrapped, slightly healed from the numerous passing minutes although pink skin now took place of his usually pale color. The blonde made his writing gesture and Gil nodded over to the table next to the couch. Mathew walked over to it and grabbed the pad and pencil that had been left there. He scribbled, '_Cinnamon?'_ and held it to his companion. "Hm…I'm not usually a spices kinda guy, so I dunno…there might be some in that cabinet over there." He pointed to said cabinet and Mathew walked over to it. He opened the door, placing the pad and pencil on the countertop, and he could just barely read a label on the top shelf marked _'-nnamon'_. Although the rest was wrapped around the cylinder, he was sure it was the spice he was looking for. He reached toward it and frowned when he his fingers couldn't surpass the shelf the spice was on. He lowered his head and stretched toward it, but to no avail. He felt a slight warmth against his back and looked up to see Gilbert, reaching over him to grab the cylinder. The albino lowered himself to his normal height and held it out, smiling. Mathew quickly grabbed it and turned away, trying his hardest not to think of the other man's body pressed against his own. As he mixed the spice into the batter and made his special pancakes he began to think about his sexuality.

Of course he had wondered about it before, on more than one occasion, especially as he was entering his teen years. He had noticed that he took much more notice in the guys in his classes than the girls. Not in an attracted sort of way, but he took notice of them more nonetheless. So of course he told his father, the person he told everything to. It was as he was explaining that sometimes this sort of thing happens, that he _knew _he was…'different'. He loved the way his father's eyes sparkled, those brilliant blue orbs. And his hair, that beautiful blonde sweep of hair. And as he was hugged by that man, he loved how his arms were wrapped so firmly yet carefully around him. How he could feel the strength flowing though his muscles, how if he were to be put into danger he wouldn't doubt this man's protection. Protection that perhaps a woman could not grant based on the situation.

Mathew knew he loved his mother as well because; of course she was the one to grant him life. She was beautiful with long golden hair that resembled her father's in color. And her emerald green eyes sparkled like the jewel they resembled. He saw his mother as beautiful, but simply not as beautiful as his father. He saw this kind of beauty in the other man in the kitchen as well, he saw it in his crimson eyes, his snow white hair, and his toned body. But most of all he saw it in the kind of person he was, the kind that would help other's in a second's notice and that somehow, Gilbert could see him. Who is invisible to the world.

"Mathew!" A chuckling voice snapped him out of his thoughts, "I-I think that's enough!" Mathew's eyebrows furrowed and he caught sight of the plethora of pancakes he had created. He finished the one cooking in the pan and added it to the plate, which Gilbert had placed before he could pile them onto the floor. The blonde washed the pan in the sink as the albino set the fluffy goodness onto the table, along with a couple of plates and of course, syrup. Mathew took a seat next to Gilbert, who was piling half (which would be a little over twenty) of the pile onto his plate and lathering them with syrup. Mathew took only a couple, not wanting to upset his stomach with pancake overload. "Mh my Ghd!" Gilbert cried out through his mouthful of pancakes. The other looked at him alarmed, wondering if he had made them wrong while he was caught in his thoughts. The albino swallowed and cried out, "These are _amazing_ Mathew! " He shoveled the rest down in the minutes that followed as Mathew only finished his two. Gilbert leaned back and patted his stomach, "Best breakfast, ever."

The blonde couldn't help but turn a few shades of pink, of course his pancakes were the best. When his dad had to leave early for work some days, his mom forgot to wake him up for breakfast. So he learned to make it himself, and developed his own special recipe. Mathew cleaned up the table while Gilbert stayed in his chair, taking ice cubes from his drink and tending to his hand with them. Mathew grabbed his notepad when he was done and took it to the table, _'Glad you liked them.'_ He wrote. The other nodded, "Yeah they were amazing!" The air became quiet, a sort of awkward silence. That was broken when Gilbert asked, "Hey um, if you want to leave you can. When you're better I mean!" Mathew quickly shook his head and wrote, _'No I like it here! And I like being with you! I'll only leave when I'm not welcome!' _When the blonde looked up and showed the other, he could've sworn that Gilbert's face had gone from pale to a light pink.

But then he smiled and it was his face that changed colors, "Well then I guess I have a roommate! Because I don't mind your company either…" The albino gazed into Mathew's eyes with something the latter could not place. He refused to look away from those crimson eyes, those pools of extravagant wine. Mathew quickly added, _'Besides I have nowhere else to go.' _ Gilbert simply nodded and then rose from his chair, "Here uh, I guess I can show you to your bedroom. You aren't going to get any better sleeping on that couch." He chuckled and Mathew followed him. He was lead to a hallway with three doors going against the left wall, while the right was decorated with extravagant paintings and small tables with vases of flowers. And then the blonde's eyebrows furrowed, now he knew he had known Gilbert for less than a day, but he also knew that something was….strange. When he had seen the stove, it was dirty and unkempt as were the pots and pans.

But the rest of the house was extravagant and neat, everything tidy and clean. It could have been that the stove was messy from just that morning, but it was like everything else was a bit _too_ clean. He was pulled from his thoughts when they reached the middle door and Gilbert opened the door.

Mathew would have gasped if he could as he was introduced to a world of lavender. The walls were painted the light purple shade, as were the bed posts. There was a small table that held a crystal vase filled with beautiful orchids in full bloom, and paintings of flowers hung about the room. A bowl of lavender potpourri hung from the ceiling by the bedside. The curtains were an opaque light purple, draping carefully over the twin windows on either side of the bed. The bed held a huge mattress that could have contained an elephant if it wanted to sleep there. And the bed posts rose in twists, and then connecting all four posts was a crowing crystal structure. It glimmered a faint purple which reflected the color around the room as the sunlight hit it.

The blonde walked forward and felt one of the orchid's petals between his fingertips. He drew out the pad that was tucked beneath his arm and the writing utensil from his pocket, _'It's so beautiful.'_ He wrote. And then surprising himself, he yawned as a chuckle reverberated around the room. "Remember that you are still recovering." He opened his eyes when he finishing the sleepy gesture and when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You still need to rest." He felt a shiver course through his spine when he heard the other man whisper and lead him to the bed. He sat down and laid back, his lids getting a little heavy and sleep beginning to blanket over him. Mathew mouthed, _'Okay'_ slowly. Gilbert pulled a light purple quilt over the other body and layered the curtains to darken the room. Mathew snuggled into the pillow as Gilbert began to walk out of the room. He was too tired to hear someone whisper, "I know it's beautiful…" before the door clicked and sleep overcame him.

**Yep this chapter is just…fluff. But I promise much more will go on next time. Okay a few notes**

***Haha, Gil…**

***Okay I have read a LOT that Mathew puts cinnamon in his pancakes so…he puts cinnamon in his pancakes dangit!**

***I've noticed I use 'he' a lot…sorry**

***So ya curious about what Mathew was thinking about? If you think about it having the house all clean isn't exactly Gilbert ya know? Hmmm…wonder what **_**that's **_**about! (DUN DUN DUUUUUUN)**

***I couldn't believe how many people but me under Story Watch in such a short time! It means a lot ya'll! Please wright a comment or something, lemme know what ya think~!**


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